The Commodore's Wife
by Ana Roth
Summary: Left stranded in Port Royal, Elizabeth has no choice but to marry Norrington. But a new stranger will come between them...OC, AU around DMC. Complete.
1. Society's Captive

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Society's Captive

Outside, it had begun to rain lightly, but the guests inside hardly noticed. Another dance had been struck up and the gentlemen and ladies lined up to face each other. After polite bows and curtseys, the partners began the intricate dance steps in time to the lively music.

Elizabeth stood to the side, sighing with boredom. The society ladies chatted about tea parties and new silk patterns; hardly thrilling conversation compared to what Elizabeth would have been discussing had she been aboard the Black Pearl that very moment. But instead she had been poked and prodded into a ridiculously tight corset and wedged into China's finest silk gown, adorned with fine jewelry and set precariously on uncomfortable heels, only with the arm of her husband Commodore James Norrington to help her keep her balance. Slowly Elizabeth edged away from the other women, backing towards the study. The ballroom and sitting room were sweltering and Elizabeth was finding it difficult to breath properly. She had reached the edge of the room when she felt a firm hand seize her arm.

"Going somewhere?"

Commodore Norrington had snuck up behind her, obviously in an attempt to make sure she did not try to leave the party.

"Oh, James. Yes, I was just going to get some fresh air." She forced a sweet smile.

His hand tightened around her arm. "I don't think so," he said, steering her back towards the ballroom and the guests. "This is, after all, a party in our honor."

Elizabeth winced as he released her arm and hooked it through his own, donning a broad smile as they enter the lounge. She had no choice but to follow his lead.

Across the room, a young man watched as Commodore and Lady Norrington entered the room amidst smiles and applause. Despite their own smiles, the pair looked uncomfortable and ill at ease. The young man watched Elizabeth closely as her husband introduced her to a captain and his wife. Her smile faded rapidly when the captain had turned away, replaced by a small scowl. But despite her expression, the man could not deny Elizabeth's beauty. He admired her slender frame and her long blonde hair that had been pulled back and tightly woven on the top of her head, yet he couldn't help but think she must look even more beautiful without all the adornments.

Eventually she had been introduced to the rest of the important society guests and she wandered away while Commodore Norrington spoke to one of the commanders. The young man rose from his seat and followed her, at a distance. She had been aiming from the hall leading away from the noisy party, but just as she reached the door he caught her.

"May I have this dance?" he said, phrasing the question so she could not refuse without seeming rude.

She turned around, disappointment etched on her face and her body as her shoulders dropped.

"Who are you?" she said, not bothering with polite pretense.

"Jonathan Newcastle, Lieutenant in the Royal Navy." He offered his hand and a polite smile.

Elizabeth glanced around, searching for a reason not to dance with the officer.

"I do believe you have nothing better to do," he said, following her gaze.

She shot him a quick glare and for a moment he thought she would walk away. But she placed her hand on his and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

The dance was a slower one and he held her hand firmly while placing his other on her slim waist. He was considerably taller than she was and she tilted her head up to examine his face.

He certainly wasn't high-ranking, as evident in his appearance. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, though Elizabeth admitted she preferred that to the unnaturally smooth jaw of her husband. His eyes were dark, the same as his hair, which was pulled back in a careless tail. His demeanor was easygoing and he seemed much more relaxed than the iron-backed captains and admirals who stood forever at attention. He had the rough hands of a sailor and Elizabeth noticed a small scar across his right cheekbone.

Despite his casual appearance, the officer knew the dance well and guided Elizabeth through it effortlessly. Neither of them spoke, only watched the other, until the end of the dance.

"I must say, Lieutenant, you are a fine representative of His Majesty's Navy. Do they teach you to dance in the academy?" Elizabeth said with a smirk.

Before he could speak, they were interrupted.

"Well, well," said Commodore Norrington, approaching the pair. "It would seem the party is not a complete waste, darling?" He gave a false grin to Elizabeth, who ignored him. Then he turned to the young man.

"Newcastle, is it? A lieutenant in the third division."

"Yes sir," he said, inclining his head.

Norrington nodded, frowning slightly. Then, "Thank you for entertaining my lovely wife with a dance, but I believe it is time we retired." He extended his arm to her. "Elizabeth," he said, more command than question. Sullenly, she took his arm and followed as he left the ballroom.

While the last of the guests left, Elizabeth sat at her dressing table, brushing out her long hair. She wore an ornate silk dressing gown over her cotton shift that did not match the frown on her face. Another useless party for which she had been dressed up and paraded around like a child. She longed to be back aboard the Pearl where the men spent a night gambling instead of waltzing and swigging rum instead of expensive French wine. There were no corsets aboard the Pearl, either.

Elizabeth's mind wandered back to the officer and the way he had looked at her while they danced. He had held her firmly, not aggressively, and guided her through the dance rather than forcing her to each step. She leaned back in her chair and sighed as she remembered his deep eyes…

The door to the bedchamber opened abruptly, startling Elizabeth from her fantasy. She flushed as Commodore Norrington entered, feeling like a child who had been caught stealing a sweet.

Rather than ignoring her as he usually did, James Norrington approached his wife and laid his hands gently on her shoulders. He had never forced her, only taking her with frenzied passion once during their honeymoon. But usually he left her be, perhaps hoping she would come to him, which she rarely did, instead turning her back to him and falling asleep. But tonight he wanted more, and he wasn't willing to wait.

His hands trailed down her shoulders and collarbones onto her breasts, which he began to massage gently through her nightgown. She rolled her head back, momentarily lost in pleasure, before she snapped her eyes open and shrugged him off.

"Not tonight, James. I'm tired." She rose and moved away from him.

His hands clutched angrily on the back of the chair. "Always the case, isn't it?" He followed her and caught her from behind, wrapping his arms around her possessively. "But not tonight, my darling. I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter." He placed kisses down her neck and onto her collarbone, igniting her. She couldn't help but gasp.

"It seems," he said, between kisses, "that your body disagrees with your heart."

His hands glided down to her hips and his long fingers began to gather the fabric of her nightgown. Suddenly it was lifted over her head and she stood in only her pantalets. She turned around to face him, her arms crossed over her naked chest. He watched her as he slid his jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, his shirt quickly following it.

"Come now, darling," he said quietly. "Nothing I haven't seen before." He grasped her wrists and pulled her arms away from her breasts, catching her off-guard. He pulled her towards him and crushed her lips with his.

Elizabeth was too stunned to react. James Norrington had never been an aggressive husband towards her, never demanding her body when she was unwilling. But tonight, his passion bordered on violence as he assaulted her with his lips. His bare chest was hot against hers and she could feel him tighten against her stomach. He tilted his head down and his lips sucked at her neck. He drew small circles with his tongue, reddening her flesh with his teeth. Elizabeth's knees grew weak and she fell against him. Not bothering to pause, he simply lowered her to the bed, supporting himself over her. His mouth traveled down to her breasts and she arched into him as he roved her body with his tongue. Her hands tangled into his dark hair as he roamed further south…

With a loud gasp, Elizabeth's body trembled, a wave of pleasure washing over her. He had never offered such feelings to her before, instead leaving their encounters monotonous and brief. He had never truly explored her body before, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity. His hands stroked, his lips kissed and within minutes Elizabeth's body trembled and released with ecstasy.

She fell against the pillows, nearly delirious, as he moved back over her. The remnants of her pleasure were intensified as he buried himself in her.

"James," she gasped, clutching his shoulders. Her body pressed into his, overcome with painful pleasure. He pulled back and drove forward again, deeper than before, eliciting another moan from Elizabeth. James grunted as he continued to thrust, driving forward with increasing intensity. He freed one hand to grasp her thigh, lifting it to his waist and opening her wider. Each sound she made only increased his desire, and her gasping his name was nearly enough for him to reach his limit. Her body was clutched against his, begging for release, and she didn't have to wait long. With a few final thrusts that shook the bed and drove her body into the mattress, he felt a sudden rush of pleasure and released. She cried out, having reached her own climax a moment before, and felt his warmth fill her. His shoulders dropped and he lay, panting, on top of her for a moment before turning to his side.

His hand gently caressed her cheek as he turned her face towards his. He kissed her softly, his eyes shut. When he drew back, Elizabeth was alarmed by the gentle look on his face.

"I love you, Elizabeth. I only wish you could find it in your heart to return the feeling."

Elizabeth lay back, shocked by his sudden declaration. He sighed, stretching out his back, ready for sleep. Disarmed, Elizabeth was suddenly overcome with the urge to somehow express that, though she didn't love him, she cared about him. His arm rested on his bare chest and was surprised when he felt it move. She had lifted it and draped it over her shoulders, settling her head where it had been. Her hand trailed across his stomach and she sighed softly, shutting her eyes. He gently stroked her tousled hair as she drifted off to sleep, wondering what she would dream about.


	2. A Hundred Shipwrecks

A Hundred Shipwrecks

Elizabeth did dream that night, but she tossed fitfully like a boat caught in a storm. Her mind was filled with horrific images of battles and war on the open seas. She could feel a bitter wind bite at her skin, stinging her eyes with salt. Ghostly ships floated on the horizon, facing the approaching armada of the East India Trading Company. Lightning lit up the waves and Elizabeth looked down…She gasped and stepped backwards, throwing out her arms to keep her balance. She was perched on a rotting gangplank and below her swirled a monstrous whirlpool, gurgling and spewing the remains of a hundred shipwrecks. Elizabeth felt herself being drawn down towards the vortex…She was losing her balance and any minute she would fall, pitching into the violent ocean.

And then she felt something else. An arm had wrapped around her waist, a strong arm that was pulling her back towards the ship. She stumbled, but the arm held her up. She looked down and recognized the familiar bird tattoo etched into the arm. She turned around and found herself face to face with Jack Sparrow. He gave her a crooked grin.

"Alright, love?"

Elizabeth could only gape in shock as she looked around the deck. They were all there, all the familiar faces from the countless days she had spent aboard The Black Pearl, tan and smiling up at her. Offering her his hand, Jack helped Elizabeth down off the gangplank and onto the deck. Then he planted his feet and leaned back to look at her.

He opened his mouth to speak, and Elizabeth watched his lips form the words, but she couldn't hear him over the storm.

"What?"

Jack wrinkled his brow and repeated his words. Again Elizabeth saw his mouth move, but couldn't hear what he said.

There was a loud rushing sound, like the sound Elizabeth's drain made back in her father's house when she pulled out the stopper after a bath. The boat pitched violently and Elizabeth fell backwards, over the side of the boat and down towards the roaring whirlpool…

Elizabeth sat straight up in bed, gasping. Her hands crawled over the bed sheets, making sure it was cotton beneath her fingers, not water. She jumped when her hands brushed warm flesh. Norrington stirred in his sleep beside her, then rolled onto his side, his back to Elizabeth. Slowly, she slipped out the bed, careful not to wake her husband. Her feet landed on the cool floor and she padded quietly to the door, opening it silently and slipping out into the hall. She walked down to the study, where she folded herself into her father's old armchair and stared out the window. It was nearly sunrise, and the waters of Port Royal lapped gently at the shore. Elizabeth could almost see the mast of the Pearl on the horizon, just sailing into port to rescue her from her dreary domestic life. She wanted to see it so badly, to feel the sudden surge of excitement in the pit of her stomach that came with the prospect of a new adventure, one that would take her to distant lands and introduce her to exotic people. But as hard as she wished, and as long as she looked, the Pearl did not appear. She had no escape.

She spent the morning in the study and watched as the Commodore left. Before he climbed the steps into the carriage, he turned to look back up at the house. She knew he couldn't see her through the gossamer curtains, but she still drew back as he turned. His eyes fixed on the study window as though he knew she was there.

Elizabeth whiled away the day in the house, strolling through the rooms, remembering her childhood there. She had spent her life being stitched into corsets, her nose powered, her feet pinched, and paraded around for all of society. Her father had never understood her spirit, but instead tried to mold her to everything a daughter of the Governor of the Caribbean should be. On the Pearl, Elizabeth had felt who she truly was, and had felt, for the first time in her short life, a sense of freedom. But that freedom had fled along with Will, who had left her here for a loveless marriage with Norrington and an endless march through navy parties and promotion ceremonies leading, relentlessly, towards a tedious and adventure-free future as the Commodore's wife.

Elizabeth was taking afternoon tea in the library when there was a swift knock on the door.

"Come in," she called, setting her cup down on the table.

One of the servants, an elderly man in a ridiculous powdered wig, entered and addressed Elizabeth.

"There is a visitor to see you, my lady, a Lieutenant Newcastle of His Majesty's Navy. Shall I show him in?"

"Yes, of course," said Elizabeth. A moment later the door opened again as the servant showed the lieutenant into the library. He strode across the room and paused before Elizabeth to bow politely. She nodded and gestured to a nearby chair. "Please, sit."

He obeyed.

"Tea, Lieutenant?" Elizabeth smiled graciously, and falsely. He caught it instantly.

"I assure you, you need not pretend for me." He leaned towards Elizabeth and whispered conspiratorially. "You see, you cannot tarnish my reputation, for it is already so poor, as it were." He winked at her.

"Ah, why then, Lieutenant, it would indeed be an act of social suicide for me to be seen conversing with you at all. If the Admiral's wife knew…"

"Well then, all the more reason for our most flamboyant and scandalous alliance." He leaned back easily in his chair, stretching his legs out. He continued to watch Elizabeth, a smirk playing at his lips.

For some reason she could not categorize, Elizabeth could not look away from him. She thought of averting her eyes, she thought of reaching for the teapot and pouring another cupful, she thought of how this might look if her husband were to walk in at this moment, but she could not look away. She smiled back.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Lieutenant Newcastle?"

"It is my duty as an officer of His Majesty's Royal Navy to travel the islands and keep the company of beautiful ladies such as yourself while your husbands, who are much higher ranking and thusly _much_ more important, are off doing business."

Elizabeth smirked. "My dear Lieutenant, there is no logical reason why you could not simply work your way up through the ranks until you achieved one of these high rankings. That is what Commodore Norrington has done."

His smile fell as he watched her for a moment. Then he spoke quietly. "He is your husband, yet you still refer to him by his title."

Elizabeth's stomach lurched. "Yes, well…" she trailed off, tilting up her chin haughtily. "He is your superior officer."

"Yes, he is," he said, nodding. "But is he yours?"

Elizabeth had no quick response, no clever and witty comeback to throw at this arrogant and unnervingly insightful stranger who had wandered into her home. So she laughed.

"I'm sorry," he said, finally looking away. "I see I've touched a nerve."

"Don't be absurd." Elizabeth's smile faded, her stomach tightening in anger. Who was he to come into her library and insult her? What did he know about her relationship with James?

"Don't be ashamed. Some people just need to be controlled."

Elizabeth's hands shook as she stood up suddenly.

"Perhaps you should leave." She strode towards the doors.

"I didn't mean to offend you, I only meant—" His words stopped as Elizabeth threw open the door. She stormed down the hall, moving quickly away from the library, away from the man who had been able to look at her once and instantly see everything. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Wait."

She ignored his call, hot tears streaming from her eyes. She couldn't look at him; she couldn't let him see her cry.

"Elizabeth!" She could hear his footsteps on the floor, and she could tell he was getting closer. He was so close, right behind her…

"Wait." She felt his hand on her arm.

Elizabeth turned to him, no longer caring about her tears. He knew he had hurt her. His eyes were blazing as he took the last few steps towards her. She flinched as his hands moved towards her but calmed when she felt them gently caress her face. And then his lips were on hers, pleading for forgiveness. Suddenly she gave in and Elizabeth kissed him back with fervor, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed her body to his. He pushed her backwards until she hit the wall and he used his strong arms to pin her to it. His mouth continued its assault on hers and she found it difficult to breath. Gasping, she pulled away to watch his eyes. He lunged for her mouth again but she pulled back, avoiding him. After he tried again, unsuccessfully, he lowered his lips to her neck. Her body trembled with a stinging desire, a desire to touch him, to be touched by him, and to get as close to him as she could. She pressed herself into him.

When his hands released her wrists to wander down her back to the ties of her dress, she pulled her mouth away from his jaw to whisper in his ear: "Not here."

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him after her down the hall. As they passed the study, he pulled her back towards him to kiss her fiercely. She laughed and turned away, tugging him after her as she ran. She threw open the bedroom doors and dragged him inside, being sure to lock the doors after him. Once this was done, her fingers hurried to the ties of her dress. Just as eager, he spun her around to help the process along. As she felt his strong hands on her back, she couldn't help but to lean against him. His lips caressed her neck, trailing down to her shoulder as he worked on the last knot…

Within a moment, her dress had fallen to the floor, leaving her in just her undergarments and him overly dressed. He ripped off his coat, and she clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel what she knew was the warm skin of his toned chest.

The next few moments were a tangle of limbs and clothing as they stripped each other. By the time they fell onto the bed, they still wore certain articles that had been deemed unnecessary to remove. There was no time to waste.

Elizabeth moaned as his rough hands glided down her body, parting her knees and lifting them over his shoulders. His hot breath slicked her skin along with his tongue. When his mouth reached her center, she was gasping with pleasure. His lips moved slowly over her, caressing everything within reach and enjoying the taste. His tongue circled her in slow, deliberate circles, making her hips rise and her back arch, her breath caught in a throaty moan. His fingers trailed from her thighs up to her waist, sending shivers down her spine. As she moaned again, he removed his mouth and rose up level to her, where he dove again at her mouth. He nuzzled her neck with his rough jaw and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Do you want me?"

Elizabeth locked her eyes on his as she whispered her response. "Yes."

He shifted his weight onto his arms and positioned his hips between her legs, which were bent obligingly. As his mouth found her breasts, he slowly dipped into her, filling her completely. She cried out, her body quaking. She could feel his desire through his skin, as though he was on fire, and her body was responding. She lifted her hips to him, pulling him in deeper. It was his turn to gasp.

His hips lifted and then ground into hers, eliciting moans from both. Elizabeth wanted him to take his time, but she knew time was not on their side. Clutching the back of his neck, she lifted her shoulders from the pillows and hissed in his ear. "Faster."

He obeyed, thrusting with growing speed. He groaned and traced his teeth over her shoulder, moving faster within her. They both ground into each other, now desperate for release. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he pounded her body mercilessly. She felt herself letting go.

Sweat slicked their bodies and Elizabeth felt as though the whole world would shatter, any moment now, with some great cataclysm. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her breath was escaping in gasps, her body was shaking with uncontrollable pleasure…And then she felt a wave of joy unlike anything she had ever felt before, a tremendous wave crashing over her weak and bruised body as she tighten around her lover as though she was clinging to life itself.

Her sudden, sharp cry, like the cry of a joyful bird over the ocean, was what brought him, quaking, to his climax. He groaned and his hands grasped fistfuls of hot cotton sheets as his final push brought him deeply into her.

He pressed his lips to hers, sealing the act. He felt her smile beneath him.

After he left, Elizabeth soaked in the bathtub, her mind wandering. She had never felt anything so blissful with James, never felt herself so strongly reciprocating his desire or so eager to match his passion. Jon was a different man, and he seemed to understand her better than any other man, even Will. She felt her face flush at the sudden thought. She had never shared herself, her body, with Will. She wondered vaguely what it would have been like, but she found it difficult to imagine it as good as her afternoon encounter. Her body pulsed as she thought back over what had happened. Her emotions had been bared and with a sudden surge, tears poured down her cheeks. She felt drained, physically and emotionally. She sank low into the bathtub so that only her nose and eyes were above the water. She did not get out until her skin was thoroughly soaked and wrinkled.


	3. Silence

Silence

Elizabeth was wrapped in her dressing gown, drying her hair with a towel, when James entered the bedroom. Elizabeth's stomach tightened guilty; she had just changed the sheets on the bed, choosing to do it herself instead of asking a servant and arousing suspicion.

"Good evening," he said stiffly, physically avoiding Elizabeth as he went to his closet to change.

He didn't speak to Elizabeth again for the rest of the evening. By the time she climbed into bed, Elizabeth had resigned herself to a silent and mercifully non-physical night with her husband. She stretched out on the clean cotton sheets, her back to Norrington. She had just begun to drift off when his words startled her from her stupor.

"Why isn't it enough?"

He spoke softly, a rhetorical question asked to the room as though the furniture waited, with baited breath, to answer him. Elizabeth barely heard.

She rolled over to face him, slightly irritated.

"What are you talking about?"

He was on his back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a sadness etched in his prematurely lined face.

"Everything you could have ever wanted, Elizabeth. Isn't it enough?"

She really wasn't in the mood for this now. "James…"

"The parties, the gowns and jewelry, even the title. But it's not enough. I love you, Elizabeth. Why isn't that enough for you?"

She sat up, her weight resting on her hands. A life of society wasn't everything she wanted. Gowns and jewelry were as good as prison bars. Society parties were like feeding times, only Elizabeth was the one being served up, and the party guests picked her apart with gossip. She longed to be aboard a ship, at the mercy of the wind and sea, far away from Port Royal and its imported hierarchies of British society. Her wedding ring might as well have been a shackle. Being with Jon had been a glimpse at freedom, a chance to do something again that was against the rules, something that would give her some sort of control over her life while at the same time allowing her to let go completely.

How could she possibly express all of this to James?

"You have always assumed that you saved me from a terrible fate aboard the Black Pearl. You thought that I would have a much better life back here with you. You thought that because it's what you wanted to believe, James, but it's not true. Port Royal is my captor, and the open sea is my home. Fine gowns and diamonds don't matter to me, and neither does a society title. I can't live this life anymore, doing the same things day after day. It will drive me mad."

He looked puzzled for a moment, and said nothing as he contemplated her words. Then he spoke.

"To want to live a life of piracy, devoting yourself to crime, Elizabeth." She winced at his words, fearing the speech of condescension that would follow. She looked down and was surprised to find a smile playing on his lips.

"What would your father say?"

Elizabeth laughed, throwing her head back and releasing the tension that had built in the pit of her stomach. She dropped back down to the bed, savoring the comfort it provided after what had been a very long day.

She woke suddenly, ripped from pleasant sleep by something impalpable. The house was silent. The windows were open, but Elizabeth heard none of the usual morning sounds; no birds chirping, no wagon wheels on the road. Not even the curtains fluttered with a gentle Caribbean breeze. She sat still in the bed, her fear immobilizing her. After a few moments, she rolled over and perched on the edge of the bed. She hesitated to step on the floor, to make any sound that would shatter the eerie silence. Slowly, she lowered her foot and tested her weight on the floor.

It did not squeak. She pressed her whole foot down, holding her breath. There was silence. Her other foot followed just as slowly, and just as quietly. She felt her ears would shatter from the building pressure of the relentless silence.

Usually this time of day, the household was full of noise. Servants would be preparing breakfast, beginning the daily chores, coming and going and slamming doors as they went. But Elizabeth heard not even a floorboard creak.

She moved cautiously towards the door. She stopped, however, when her hand wrapped around the cold bronze doorknob. There was no conceivable way she could open the door without making a sound. The knob would rattle, the hinges would squeak, and the wood often cracked and popped with the humidity. Resigning herself to the prospect of a possibly very noisy exit, Elizabeth turned the doorknob slowly. The door hinges creaked in an ominous way, a loud, echoing creak that Elizabeth swore could have been heard down at the docks. She peered out in to the hallway, but there was no one there.

She made her way slowly to the top of the stairs. Leaning against the banister, she looked down into the hall. A flicker of movement on the edge of the foyer caught her eye, and Elizabeth leaned further over to see. Whatever it had been was gone, but Elizabeth knew it was just on the edge of her vision. She crept down the stairs.

She stood still in the foyer, three different directions for her to choose. To her left was the sitting room, and beyond that, the solarium. To her right was the study, and just next to that was the library. In front of her were the dining room and the passage to the kitchens. She had stepped towards the kitchens when she heard a noise from the sitting room. It had been quiet, almost silent, but Elizabeth had heard it, like the flutter of wings. She turned towards it.

The door to the sitting room was open ajar. Elizabeth couldn't see anyone through the crack, just the cream carpet and the end of the sofa. She held her breath as she pushed open the door.

At first, the only thing she saw was the blinding sunlight that poured through the window. But as her eyes focused and she turned away from the light, she was able to make out the rest of the room. She froze.

A man was standing by the bookshelf, his back to Elizabeth. His clothes were old and tattered, with a worn and dirty look to them. His long dark hair was matted and twisted into loose, thick braids and on his feet he wore tall brown leather boots. On one hip was a cutlass, and on the other was a pistol.

He turned around to face Elizabeth. His dark eyes crinkled into a smile and he cocked a crooked, silver grin. His arms waved vaguely in front of him in a gesture to Elizabeth.

"'Ello, love."

Elizabeth sat bolt upright in her chair. The teacup that had been balanced on her lap fell to the floor and shattered. Her hand fluttered to her chest, where she could feel her heart hammering against her ribs. She struggled to catch her breath.

As she knelt down to clean up the china, she glanced around the room. She was in the solarium for tea. The humidity was oppressive that day, and she had drifted into a fitful sleep in her chair. She had seen Jack's face so clearly, it was as though he had been standing before her, and she looked about the room, half expecting to see him leaning against the bookshelf and watching her, a twisted smirk on his face.

Her dreams had been haunted by visions of pirate ships, dark shadows that lurked beneath the decks, blasts of cannon fire and distant lands that held untold secrets. She spent most of her time pondering these dreams, paying little attention to what she really was doing, thus living half a life, a life consumed by fantasy.

So she took a walk. She strolled down the lawn of the mansion, through the gardens of tropical plants, down to the edge of the property where the tamed manicured lawns of the mansion came to a sudden halt in the face of the wild and voracious jungle. The metaphor was not lost on Elizabeth, who saw them everywhere these days.

As she stood on the property line, looking into the dense undergrowth before her, her mind focused on one thing. How easily she could slip into the trees and run away. She could leave the mansion and everything it entailed behind while she set off at a sprint towards the nearest departing ship. And she could think of someone who would go with her…

Perhaps her imagination was over-active. Maybe she simply needed a hobby to occupy the time of her day. These thoughts were ridiculous. The other society women devoted their time to charities and meetings; so, too, could Elizabeth. She would push this nonsense from her head by throwing herself wholeheartedly into a task.

Making up her mind, she turned suddenly from the trees and hurried back up to the house, where she ordered her carriage to be made ready for a trip into town.

It was a short trip; the route had been worn down daily by carriage wheels and it was likely the horses could have driven themselves to town. On the edge of the village, the driver called back to Elizabeth through the little window at the front of the cab.

"Where to, ma'am?"

Having had every intention to go straight to the women's club and begin the fundraising for the education of young island girls, Elizabeth was suddenly overwhelmed by another intention.

"Let me out here. I'd like to walk."

The driver obeyed and Elizabeth began her journey to a small white house on the edge of town. She knocked on the door hesitantly, as though she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to go in.

After a few moments silence, the door swung open.

"Elizabeth?"

Lieutenant Newcastle stood on the threshold, looking entirely surprised to see her. He worn only an untucked shirt and a pair of breeches; his hair was tousled and, Elizabeth noticed, his hands were stained with ink.

"Am I interrupting you?" she said, suddenly aware of how foolish and rash her actions had been.

"Not at all," he answered. "Would you like to come in?"

"Yes, of course," she said, hurrying past him into the house. He stifled a yawn and shut the door, turning around to find Elizabeth looking anywhere but his direction.

"This is a nice house," she said to the ceiling.

"Are you surprised?" he replied, only half joking.

Finally she looked at him. "I didn't mean it that way."

"It was my father's house. He left it to me when he died."

"Oh." Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush scarlet. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was a navy Captain who spent most of his life miserable. He only showed any decency right before he died."

Newcastle turned away from her and moved towards an open door. Elizabeth paused, unsure if she should follow him.

Without turning, he called to her: "Aren't you coming?"

She hurried after him, her face still flushed. He led her into a small study. The walls were lined with crowded bookshelves; hundreds of dusty, leather-bound volumes stood in neat rows, looking as though they hadn't been touched since the day they had been placed there. Newcastle motioned to an armchair for Elizabeth and strode towards the desk where a tray of entirely dust-free glass bottles was perched. He chose a squat bottle half-filled with amber liquid and poured some into a glass. He gestured the bottle towards Elizabeth with a silent question; she shook her head quickly. He picked up his glass and took a swig.

"So what brings you to my humble abode, Lady Norrington?"

Elizabeth bit her lip. She had left her house to donate her time to charity and had instead ended up in the house of a man who was not her husband with unclear, though entirely immoral, motives. She just hadn't been counting on explaining herself.

Newcastle, who was not so easy to give up the chase, cocked an eyebrow at her silence.

"It's a little late to play coy, isn't it, Elizabeth?"

A slight anger coursed through her veins, where it mixed with her other suppressed emotions. Before she could control herself, her mouth opened and her words tumbled out.

"I couldn't stay in that house anymore. The tension would have eaten me alive. Living there is living a lie."

Newcastle was still for a silent moment, contemplating Elizabeth's words in the bottom of his glass. Then he set it carefully down on the desk, walked around to the armchair across from hers, and sat down slowly.

"That was quite a revelation."

She said nothing.

"How long have you been waiting to say that?"

She looked up at him and found his eyes slanted into a half-smile.

"Since the wedding."

He laughed, a loud, loose laugh, and Elizabeth noticed how his shoulders relaxed, free from tension, so unlike James', so unlike her own.

She leaned forward in her chair to speak softly to him. "Tell me your secrets."

By dusk she had to leave. She wanted to stay forever, wrapped in the cool cotton sheets, his strong, rough arms wrapped around her waist to hold her close. He lay on his side next to her, his head resting on her shoulder. His eyes were closed. She lay on her back, looking up at the fading rays of light splashed across the ceiling. She had been watching the light, keeping track of the time, waiting until the last possible moment to leave. She knew if she came back too late James would be suspicious. At the same time, she didn't want to care.

She slipped out of the bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping Lieutenant. She winced at the rustling sound her dress made as she pulled it over her head. She secured the back loosely and turned to find him watching her intently.

"Leaving so soon?"

"It's getting late," she said, trying to avoid his eye. She could feel his gaze on her as she searched for her shoes.

"You wouldn't want to leave him waiting."

Elizabeth sighed as she brushed her hair back from her face. "Please don't be like that."

She moved swiftly towards she door, but as she passed the bed he caught her arm.

"I'm sorry; you're right." She tried again not to look at him. "I'll find you again," he said, his voice gruff, as though he was fighting with himself to say something else. She gave in and looked down at him. "I'll keep a weathered eye on the horizon."


	4. An Alternate Perspective

An Alternate Perspective

The next day, down at the docks of Port Royal, Commodore Norrington paced the worn boardwalk uneasily. One of the duties included in his promotion was to oversee the loading of the Intrepid, a new naval ship making its maiden voyage from Port Royal to the base on Tortuga. It was an unnecessary job; the men knew what to do and the Commodore was only there to make sure no one stole much of anything. He sighed as he leaned against a post. The sun was brutal that day, and his uniform was stifling. The closest shade would be below decks or back in his office. He sought out the Captain and left him in charge with the stern warning that, should anything go wrong, it would be his last action as an officer in the Royal Navy. Then the Commodore retired to his office.

It was much cooler inside without the sun beating down on his head, and he was able to remove his jacket. He sat at his desk, vaguely scanning the documents and charts piled there. None of them were of much interest to him at the moment. He picked up a silver letter opener and turned it idly in his hands. As he twisted the cool silver between his fingers, his thoughts drifted to his wife. Elizabeth had been distant lately, more distant than her usual aloofness granted.

The Commodore felt a familiar twinge of annoyance in his chest. She refused to love him, that was true enough, but she was his wife. She was legally bound to him, she shared a home with him, and she shared a bed with him. His stomach twisted. He had always been a fair husband, never violent or forceful, only asking that she fulfill her duty as a wife. But his patience, already worn down by the tedious tasks of his job, was thinning. Elizabeth had been spoiled for far too long, given everything ever wanted, how and when she wanted it. It was time to put an end to this behavior.

And then his stomach dropped. In his mind, he saw her face, laughing at a silent joke. Her eyes her bright, her smile brilliant, and he felt his anger ebbing away. Could he find it in his heart to resent her? He had cared deeply for her for most of her life, but his feelings were mostly unreciprocated. He sighed deeply as another wave of confused emotions washed over him.

He would take from her what he could, while he had her, but he felt that, somehow, it would not be for long.

That night, Elizabeth tossed fitfully in her bed. Nightmares tossed about in her head, sea monsters attacked her dreams. She didn't feel James slip into bed next to her.

He lay still beside her for a moment, watching her sleep. She looked troubled; her brow was furrowed and her hands clutched at the sheet that was draped over her thin body. He gently wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her body close to his. She moaned softly, a quick sound escaping from between her parted, pale lips. He rested his own lips upon the soft skin of her shoulder. His nose brushed against her hair and he caught the smell of her perfume, light and sweet.

Her breathing slowed and he felt her body relax. Slowly, unconsciously, she molded her body against his, taking comfort as she slept. Eventually, James drifted off to sleep, his breathing matching hers.

Elizabeth woke to a strange sensation, one she had not felt in a long time: comfort. She had slept well, and felt oddly protected. As she shifted her legs to stretch, she brushed against something warm and solid. Turning her head, she found the Commodore lying stretched out beside her. One arm was draped easily over her waist, holding her to him as they slept; the other lay on the pillows above her head.

She stiffened. She hadn't heard him come in last night, and hadn't felt him lie down next to her. Now, she did not want to wake him.

She did not see him often, but when she did, he looked at her with saddened eyes. The wave of guilt that washed over Elizabeth was unpleasant; she could hardly bear it more than once a day. Now they were both vulnerable, half asleep, and Elizabeth did not want to start a confrontation. Her only hope was to pretend she was asleep until he left.

As she shifted, she heard a deep sigh. She shut eyes and pretended she was stretching in her sleep before lying still.

"Good morning, Elizabeth." He had caught her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He had propped his head up on his hand and was watching her while a smile played at his lips. She frowned, irritated that she had been caught.

"Good morning," she said, turning back onto her side, away from him.

"I trust you slept well?" he said. She could almost hear his smirk.

"Yes, fine," she said coolly, not looking at him. She shifted, pulling away from him. "Very well, thank you."

He laughed. "You're welcome." He pulled her back towards him, turning her as she went so she was on her back next to him. He leaned over her and pressed a kiss to her lips. After a few moments she pulled away.

"Don't be so stubborn, Elizabeth." He was still smiling, a surprise to Elizabeth, who was so used to seeing his face contorted in sorrow. She might as well oblige. When he kissed her again, she did not resist.

His hands traveled down her body, tracing the curves and lines of her side. Her hands languidly tangled in his hair, drifting over his shoulders and down the back of his neck. He propped himself up on his arms while he shifted his hips so he was above her. Her knees bent automatically and she easily fit around him, his hips between hers.

Suddenly his lips were at her throat, teasing her skin. His tongue roamed down to her collarbone, moving in slow circles. Her skin tasted good. She was still wearing a cotton shift and he pulled at it, annoyed it was still there. She lifted her hips as he pulled it up, over her hips, her stomach, her chest, and finally her head. She shook her head as he tossed the garment to the floor, her hair falling about her on the pillow. He laughed again, but she didn't get the joke.

"What?" she said, her brow furrowed.

"My god, Elizabeth. You don't even do it on purpose, do you?"

She frowned, still puzzled. However, her husband made it clear he had no intention of clarifying himself further as he lowered his lips to her shoulder. From there, he traced a slow line down to her chest. Elizabeth titled her head back and gasped. His mouth caressed her breast, sending warm waves down her body. As he raised his head, he paused. His fingers brushed over the top of her arm and Elizabeth flinched at the twinge of pain that followed.

"What happened?" he said, traced the purple oval-shaped bruise.

Elizabeth remembered Jon, his mouth on her skin, biting down, blending pleasure and pain. She shook her head back to reality.

"It's nothing, I must have bumped against a shelf. I'm fine." She placed her lips against his shoulder, eager to retreat from the subject. He conceded.

Her body arched into him and he pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her back. He ran his other hand down her stomach, causing her to shiver. His hand drifted further down, his fingers brushing the top of her thigh. But she lifted her hips and ground into his, slowly, agonizingly. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"That won't be necessary, Commodore."

He smiled against her lips as he assaulted them again, parting them with his tongue and exploring her mouth. As his tongue slid over hers, she moaned into him. He had slipped into her, stretching her body blissfully. His hips undulated against her, rising and falling and an exquisitely slow pace. Elizabeth began to match his hips' pace with her own, moving with him.

It was fantastically slow, even and steady. His lips stayed with hers, teasing and biting.

Soon Elizabeth was dying for his pace to quicken, and she tried to persuade him. But he continued at his pace, driving forward and pulling back in a steady motion. Her body began to tremble. She tightened around him.

It was almost too much for him. She looked so beautiful beneath him, her hair fanned out on the bed, and she tasted so sweet. But her body was tensed and begging for more speed, more intensity. She wanted it to end quickly.

James wouldn't let her have it that way. He knew it would be incredible, enjoyable, at a slower pace, relishing each movement, instead of a rough frenzy of passion. She didn't have much passion, she just sought release, and he was denying her of it. Instead he would make her wait. She could enjoy herself if she wanted to.

When he pulled away from her mouth, he groaned. She arched her head back, her eyes closed, her swollen lips parted, her breath caught in her throat. Her chest was pressed into his, a contrast of smooth and soft with rough and firm. Her fingers dug into his broad shoulders as she cried out, a soft "oh."

His hair, already tousled from sleep, was even more so when she brushed her hands through it, pulling his head down to her neck. His body was slicked in sweat, and she tasted him on her tongue. Despite her movements, he pulled away from her throat and held himself above her. She could tell he was concentrating very hard on keeping his pace, and she was going to do whatever she could to distract him.

She dragged one leg up and down the back of his several times, moaning softly with each brush, before wrapping it around his waist. This opened her hips wider and brought him into her deeper. He groaned audibly. Smilingly wickedly, she traced her hand down from his shoulder onto his chest. Her fingers brushed against his nipple softly before traveling down to his waist. She traced his hipbone and her fingers chased across the base of his stomach. He groaned again.

"Elizabeth."

Her lips parted as she reached for his neck, kissing and biting the skin there. He tasted good. She teeth bit gently into his shoulder, leaving behind a jagged "O". He dropped his head onto her shoulder and moaned.

And then a strange thing happened. As a wave of satisfaction crashed over Elizabeth, she found she was enjoying herself, and each moment, rather than hoping for a climax to come quick and hard. She felt each beat of his hips against hers and rather enjoyed the fact that she knew when the next would be coming.

She lifted her hips to meet his, letting him plunge even deeper. She cried out, overwhelmed with sensation. By the sixth stroke, she pulsed and came, her body releasing, the tension falling away. James drove into her again and found his release from hers. They collapsed upon the bed, breathing heavily.

After a few moments to catch her breath, Elizabeth rolled onto her side, looking over at her husband. She brushed his hair from his forehead and ran her thumb across his lips. He watched her, his eyes burning.

So many words were on the tip of her tongue; things she wanted to say, and things she didn't. Some things he needed to know, and some she couldn't bear to tell him. She took a breath, drawing what she hoped was enough air into her lungs to explain everything, her breath caught in her throat. He closed his eyes and leaned back, his arm around her shoulders.

She sighed and settled in next to him, her fingers tracing the muscles of his chest. Some things are better left unsaid.


	5. To Market

To Market

Elizabeth sulked as she wandered down High Street, her mood as sullen as the weather. The humidity was oppressive and the sky was an ugly shade of grey. Her hands passed over cool silk ribbons outside a stall and the saleswoman smile a toothless grin at her. Elizabeth nodded and continued on. She didn't have a reason to be at the market, not really, other than to escape the house. James was down at the docks, supervising something or other; Elizabeth hadn't bothered paying attention, if he had even bothered telling her. She had been bored with the house, with the servants who stopped gossiping about her the moment she entered a room. She knew what they said, that she was spoiled, and selfish, and childish, and a plethora of other things she didn't care to know. But deep down, there words left their mark. Elizabeth had no one to share much of anything with these days. James wanted her body, but she was sure he would find her thoughts foolish. For a moment she wished Will was there, to have someone to talk to, but she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. He had never really cared about her, or else why would he have left her here while he was off pirating?

And then another familiar face swam into her mind. Jon, with his charming smile, had known what Elizabeth had been thinking within a moment of looking at her. At first she had found his candor disarming, and she was angry that she lost her guard. But now she missed it, missed not having to explain herself, to be instantly understood. Maybe he knew her better than she knew herself.

She sighed, the traces of a smile fading from her lips. Who knew where he was now; probably off on some mission for the crown, torturing innocent islanders into buying allegiances? She would almost certainly never see him again.

She paused and idly examined a glass bowl outside a shop, turning the cool object over in her hands. She caught her reflection in its bottom and was startled to see someone standing close behind her.

"Fancy meeting you here," a voice said softly in her ear.

She turned to see Lieutenant Newcastle smiling down at her, a knowing look in his eyes as though he had planned to happen across her at the market at approximately two in the afternoon.

She was at a loss for words.

"I see I've caught you off guard, Lady Norrington."

Elizabeth felt her face flush. "Not at all. I had it on good authority that you had left Port Royal on a ship last week."

"I was transferred to the Intrepid; I don't leave for another week. Perhaps you need a better authority."

"Indeed." She nodded smugly, not willing to indulge further.

Later that afternoon, Elizabeth lay in Newcastle's bed, her fingers idly playing with the cotton of the pillowcase. He was propped up beside her, watching her with half-lidded eyes. She bit her lip.

"What are you thinking?" he said softly.

She smiled. "Can't you guess?"

He laughed and rolled forward onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hand.

"What is Elizabeth Norrington thinking…right now, in the other man's bed, Elizabeth is thinking not at all of the tremendous guilt that now weighs upon her soul—" they laughed loudly "—but rather of a distant place."

"Hmm, and what place might that be, Lieutenant?" Elizabeth watched him intently, her lips quirked into a half smile, wondering what he would say next.

"Home."

"England?" This was not the place she was thinking of.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "The place you're thinking of hasn't been your home, not yet, but it will be."

"Ah, now tell me something, Lieutenant, are you also a clairvoyant, as well as a sailor?"

"Not that I'm aware of. But it is a distinct possibility." He smiled wickedly. "Would that appease you?"

"It's a distinct possibility," said Elizabeth, turning on her side to face him. "Where is this home?"

He closed his eyes as though thinking hard. "Somewhere far from Port Royal…not England, we've already gotten that…I see an island somewhere, with the ocean at your front door and a stretch of land at the back. No aristocratic neighbors to chat with, no stables to employ grooms for, no carriages with drivers. Does this sound about right?"

"It sounds nice."

They watched each other for a few moments before Elizabeth spoke. "Where is your home?"

"My home. My home is where the sand is as white as the king's wig—" Elizabeth laughed "—and the trees grow tall and thick to give shade. There's a garden behind the house, where we keep the horses."

"Horses with no grooms?"

"Yes, horses we groom ourselves, or else let them grow wild like the sea. At night the moon shines in through the bedroom window and the waves lull you to sleep. And in the morning, we rise with the sun, and do what we please."

"Whatever we want?"

"Anything you want. There are no boundaries in my home."

"It sounds lovely," said Elizabeth. A home without boundaries sounded extremely appealing. She closed her eyes and imagined living there, on the beach, with no cares or worries. She could almost feel the freedom.

"Come with me."

Her eyes snapped open and she stared at Jon.

"What?" she said, her mind clouded by the image he had painted.

"Come with me Elizabeth. We can find that island, and make it our own. The horses, the garden, it could all be ours."

"We can't just leave…" She was having a hard time coming back to reality.

"Of course we can!" He sat up now, animated, the sheets falling about his waist. "We can just leave, leave everything behind here in Port Royal, and start over somewhere else."

"I can't leave. And you can't just desert. They'll have your head."

"They won't, not if they can't find us. Elizabeth, what reason do you have to stay?"

She sat up as well, holding the sheet to her chest.

"You know why."

"Leave him, Elizabeth. You don't love him."

Emotions welled in Elizabeth's chest, fed by some unknown spring. Did she know she didn't love James? Did she even know what love was? Did she love Jon enough to leave everything and live with him on some island in the middle of the Caribbean?

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't leave with you."

She slipped out of the bed and gathered her dress in her arms.

"Elizabeth," he said, watching her go. "Elizabeth, wait…"

She paused at the door and turned to look back at him one last time. "I'm sorry." She slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Her tears began to fall as soon as she shut the door.

She didn't go home. She went to the old mission that overlooked the sea and watched the sunset. She could almost see the possibility setting sail for the horizon, leaving to find that island and build that beautiful home without her. It was everything she ever wanted, but when it had been given to her, she couldn't take it.

She stood on the cliff, the breeze pulling at her disheveled hair, looking down at the waves as they crashed against the rocks. She felt a familiar ache in the pit of her stomach, a yearning for something, but what she did not know. Her eyes were swollen from her tears, but she could cry no more. She had nothing left, nothing left to give anyone, and nothing left for herself. She felt completely empty.

It had begun to rain by the time she got home, and she was soaked. She opened the door slowly, feeling as though she had little strength left. The staircase loomed in front of her as a ghastly obstacle.

"Elizabeth."

James had been in the sitting room, pacing in front of the fireplace, where a great fire crackled and hissed.

Elizabeth turned slowly towards him, not registering much of anything except his face. He had been worried, wondering where she had been, and had been waiting there for her.

Suddenly she felt weak and her legs wobbled beneath her. He rushed to catch her, holding her up with his strong arms. As she looked up at his face, the ache in her stomach intensified. He wasn't angry, but concerned, worried. Scared. He cared so much about her and she had treated him…terribly.

"James, I…"

He shook his head. "Please don't, Elizabeth."

He lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs, her head resting on his shoulder. Once she had changed from her wet clothes and settled into the bed, he went to the fireplace and lit a fire. She watched him as he worked, carefully arranging the logs and lighting the match in one firm stroke. Once it was lit, he stood slowly and turned to face her.

She couldn't think of what to say. He deserved so much more.

"James, I'm so sorry."

"Please, Elizabeth…" he sounded as tired as she felt. His next words escaped as a whisper. "Please don't do this."

He sat on the end of the bed, his back to her, his head in his hands. The silence seemed so fragile, like the glass bowl she had seen in the market; she was afraid the wrong words would shatter it into a million little pieces.

"I thought about resigning my commission with the Navy and leaving Port Royal."

His words felt like a silver blade in her heart. He fell silent, letting his words sink in. She could not have spoken if she wanted to for the pain in her heart.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again.

"I don't…" his words faltered, and his shoulders sagged, as though it took a tremendous amount of energy for him to speak. "I can't know. Please don't tell me."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. She felt like her voice would never reach his ears if she spoke now.

"It's your decision to make, Elizabeth. Him, or me. Just please…" he sighed deeply. "Please make a decision."

He rose and walked to the door. Elizabeth wanted to stop him and apologize, tell him that she didn't mean to hurt him. But she had. She had been caught up in her own emotions and forgot that other people had them too. It was too late for her to apologize.

He didn't look at her as he shut the door. It closed with a gentle click, but to Elizabeth, it might as well have slammed.


	6. Throw Your Cautions To The Wind

Throw Your Cautions to the Wind

The carriage rolled to an easy stop at the fork in the road. Where it split, one road led to one man, one who would protect her and comfort, who had promised to love her forever. Down the other road was another man, a man that had allowed Elizabeth to glimpse freedom again and who brought back the carefree joy into her life.

She hadn't thought it through, hadn't weighed the providences and the consequences in her mind like a rational person. When she woke that morning, she had known what to do.

She leaned forward to slide open the window between her and the coach driver.

"Driver," she said. "Go left."

"A beautiful sunset. I can't imagine a better way to spend it."

Elizabeth smiled, looking out of the side of the boat at the fiery glow of the sunset. The water blazed in the light. The caps of the waves sparkled like diamonds. It was all the wealth Elizabeth needed.

She smiled as she felt strong hands wrap around her waist, which was mercilessly free of corsets.

"Where shall we go?" he whispered in her ear.

"Wherever the tide takes us." She leaned back into him, knowing he could support her.

The boat drifted gently through the waves, a cool breeze pulling at the sails. Port Royal was far away, no more than a speck on the horizon, a speck that Elizabeth would never see again. She had lived there most of her life, but as the boat glided out into the ocean, Elizabeth did not fell like she was leaving home; she felt like she was returning to it.

**A/N: Oh no! Who does she choose? Sorry to leave you hanging, but sometimes, dear reader, the choice is up to you.**


End file.
